"Are you eating? Drinking water? Resting?"
"I'm not ill, Miriam."
"You might as well be. Grief is horrendous. Do you remember how it was when Mum and Dad died?”
"I wish I could have been there," Davonna said. She realized a moment too late that she'd spoken aloud.
"It wasn't your fault. You couldn't afford to come home, and John had to work."
Davonna was silent. She couldn't even murmur her agreement. John had to work. John always had to work. But they had more than enough money for her to fly to the UK. She had asked John to go home, with tears running down her face, after Miriam called to say their parents died within a day of each other.
John sat stoically behind his desk, looking at her as though she were something smelly he'd had to scrape off his shoe. 'We don't have the money for an extended trip to England.’
Davonna stood in front of him wiping her nose and wanting to scream. She couldn't face his depravity, his disdain for everything that mattered to her. He didn't ask if she wanted to rest or go to church or be alone. In fact he made sure he was close at hand — hovering. That weekend was a nightmare. John took her to bed every few hours so she couldn't concentrate on her grief or her memories. That week was lost to a haze of pain.
"I'm coming out as after Alba's graduation. I'll buy her a ticket to Paris for the weekend. Seamus and Flora can go with her."
"Miriam, please."
"No, I won't hear of it. Expect me in a week."
Miriam hung up a few minutes later after wrangling a “yes.” Davonna put down the phone with a smile on her face, a weak smile, but a smile nevertheless. With Miriam here, perhaps John would leave, and things could change.
X
Πρώτη βοήθεια του θεού,δεύτερη του γειτόνου.
First aid by God, second by neighbor.
Savva was still at his desk when the clock struck five and everyone in the office bolted for the exits. He leaned back in his worn leather chair and stared blearily at the popcorn ceiling. The building fell silent around him except for the trickle of pipes and the rattling of windowpanes as the sea breeze caught them.
In his mind, Davonna Fitzroy sat in front of him, bowled over by … what? He couldn't put his finger on it. She didn't appear guilty. He'd seen so many of those; hiding their guilt under a mask of confusion and pain. He smelled the sweat that gathered in their armpits and trickled over their temples. They wanted to be found out. Their bodies betrayed them.
Davonna Fitzroy wasn't like the others. She was quiet, well dressed, and possessed a stern composure as though nothing he said or did would shock her. He hunched over his keyboard. The new MacBook was a fantastic addition to his new office. While the rest of the force used outdated PCs, Savva cruised along virus free.
With a start, he pounded the keys, fast for an older man. They hadn't done background information on Davonna. They had checked John, and he had a spotless record. Besides the valets at the hotel, there wasn't a bad word spoken about him. There were those who didn't enjoy his entitled, self-righteous manner, but they couldn't say what put them off. Booras mentioned that the beat cops didn't care for Fitzroy, but it was gossip.
It popped up on the screen, the whole of Davonna's life. The miracle of belonging to the European Union—information was centralized. At least for the police this had the effect of making the job easier—sometimes. Savva read and researched for an hour and a half, printed off his findings, shoved them in a yellow folder, texted his wife to say he would be home late, and made a beeline for the door.
At the height of summer, the sun wouldn't set for another two hours. Savva walked to the beach, found his favorite bench, tucked out of sight on a jumble of rocks and shaded by wild olive trees, with an unobstructed view of the sea. He thumbed through the file, holding the pages with one hand and taking notes with his left. He paused, the red pen in between his yellowed teeth, as footsteps came up behind him.
"Kalispera, Sir," Thanos said respectfully.
"Sergeant Argyris, come sit," he said and motioned to the spot beside him.
Savva enjoyed Thanos. After Booras pointed him out, he remembered the commendation letters from the public that the department had received. The lad was intelligent and Savva believed he would move rapidly through the ranks. The tourists and residents loved him. Thanos was handsome and easy-going and quick to help whether it was directions or carrying groceries. It was good for the police department to be liked.
Thanos tugged at the collar of his shirt and loosened his tie. He looked at the file and frowned. A word popped out to him, but not one word, two … a name. Davonna Fitzroy. Savva caught Thanos staring.
"Something you wanted to say?"
"Are you investigating Mrs. Fitzroy?"
"We have a duty to the law and to the deceased to explore all avenues."
"I understand, Sir. It's just—well I don't mean to be impertinent—but I don't believe she did it."
"Ah, but you don't understand. She had means and opportunity. By her own statements she placed herself home alone the week her husband was in London."
"But why, Sir? There isn't a motive."
"The mistresses would say otherwise."
Thanos balked. "More than one?"
"At this current juncture the count is two."
"Half the men of Lesvos would be dead if their wives considered infidelity a just cause for murder."
"We aren't talking about half the men of Lesvos. We are talking about one man, and an English one at that."
"Surely, we owe them …"
"We owe them what the law requires of us and our own conscience demands."
"I agree."
"How close are you to Davonna Fitzroy, Thanos?"
Thanos stared at the rippling tide of the sea. "She walks to Mitilini from her home on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. She goes to the shops and buys fresh produce. Sometimes we chat on the dock if she's early. She's quiet, but more private than anything else."
"Why does she come so often?"
"I've wondered that. My mother goes once a week. Maybe twice, but that's only if she's run out of something she needs. Davonna, she said they both enjoy getting fresh food. I don't believe I've ever once seen her take the car. A couple of days ago I drove her home because it was so hot. My uncle owns the bakery, he called and asked me to drive her."
"They want fresh produce, but she walks the whole way?"
"Yes, Sir. In the years they've lived here, I don't believe I've seen the husband more than twice. He's either at the hotel, the house, or out of town."
"Who does Mrs. Fitzroy have helping her? It's a massive house. Must be a beast to clean. My wife would smuggle in a cleaning lady whether we could afford it or not."
"No one, to my knowledge, and they don't have children."
"I see …"
But Thanos interrupted as though his superior didn't see. "She's fragile, like something awful happened to her once. Haunted. Preoccupied."
"There's no record."
"It might not have been reported, Sir. So many of them aren't."
"What about the break-in? You responded to the call."
"I did," Thanos said. "It was the middle of the night. Mrs. Fitzroy called dispatch, and I was closest. She met me at the door to the kitchen, and she stayed there while I checked the house. The windows and doors were locked. Then as I was nearing the office, Fitzroy's office, I heard a noise at the back of the house. The door to the terrace creaked open. I pursued him through the gardens to the back where the rock wall is. Whoever it was climbed it, but I didn't get over."
"Him?"
"It had to be. Near my height, not a lot of curves."
"So a man broke-into the house. Why? Did you find anything?"
"It's in the report, Sir. Mrs. Fitzroy and I checked the office, it seemed the intruder had spent his time there. We found a used staple on the desk, an arm broken off.
"A staple?"
"Yes, Sir," Thanos sai
d. He pointed at the top left-hand corner of Savva's paperwork. "A staple."
"Nothing was missing? Nothing else left?"
"No, and we checked. Mrs. Fitzroy checked the house with me. There was no sign, other than the staple, that anyone was in the house."
"Aside from the fleeing figure."
"Yes, aside from that."
"What do you make of the staple?"
"I'd assumed a thick stack of documents. Like when you staple too many papers together and it doesn't go through … that's what it looked like."
"Who noticed it?"
"Mrs. Fitzroy."
"Why did she say it was important?"
"Because her husband left nothing on his desk. She said the room was always immaculate. And it was, Sir."
"Yes, the house is spotless," Savva said, stroking his beard.
Thanos looked up, compelled to say something, but couldn't find the words to explain his fears. He only hoped that Savva saw Davonna's innocence for himself. After a moment, Thanos turned his gaze to the ocean and the dimming sun.
"I understand she's your friend, Sergeant, but you must maintain an impartial professionalism," Savva said gruffly. With a rapid change of tone and a deep readying breath, Savva stood. "Well, my wife will be livid about my tardiness. Kalispera. Keep up the good work, Sergeant." He patted Thanos paternally on the shoulder, and strode off, the yellow file poking out from under his arm.
"Kalispera, Sir," Thanos said, and he twisted around on the bench to watch Savva trudge up the beach, turn right, and headed down the street.
Savva walked towards the police department. As he drew near the town square, he noticed that the bakery lights were still on. He knocked hard on the door even though it was past their normal hours. A man walked out with a frown on his face. Savva stood, his bulk taking up most of the doorway, and waited.
"We're closed," he said gruffly.
"Captain Savva. I'm investigating the death of Mr. John Fitzroy. You are?"
"Aris Argyris. I know nothing about Fitzroy's death."
"You must be Thanos' uncle. You're a friend of Davonna Fitzroy's?" Savva said.
Aris stood, un-perturbed, as though he was chewing his answer. "We are friendly."
"Then you won't mind if I come in and ask you a few questions," Savva said, sticking his foot between the door and the frame.
"I do mind. My partner and I are ready to go home. It's been a long day."
"It'll only take a few minutes, and I'm sure you'd prefer to answer now then in the morning when your bakery is full."
Aris’ face darkened, for a moment Savva was sure that the shorter man was going to shove him out and slam the door. "Come in," he said gruffly. "And wipe your feet. We just mopped."
Savva studied the worn hardwood floors, which sparkled, in the fading light. They were pristine. His reflection shimmered and shifted in them. His sand-encrusted boots stood out like an ugly bridesmaid. He tried to wipe off the worst.
"The captain wants to ask questions about Davonna." Aris waved backwards at Savva as they walked into the office, which he and Spiros shared.
Spiros looked at the empty chair with a sigh. "What can we do for you, Captain?"
"I'm endeavoring to get a clearer image of Mrs. Fitzroy, of her movements, her state of mind, and her marriage."
"You'll need to ask her," Aris said with a hiss.
"I want your perspective, gentlemen, as her friends."
"We aren't as close as that. She stops by three days a week but she never stays for more than a few minutes. We put her order together early in the morning so she can pick it up and leave instead of having to wait in a long line. She pays once a month for the bread. The order never changes," Spiros said, his eyes full on the policeman. Aris stepped to one side of Savva and gave Spiros a small smile.
"Why does she walk? Why doesn't she drive?"
"She enjoys the walk," Aris said.
"And she says it helps keep her in shape," finished Spiros.
"I see. Did John Fitzroy ever come into your bakery?"
"No," said the two men at once.
"Why not?"
"He worked," Spiros said, cutting in. "He's a busy man."
"Other men have time for shopping."
"I think it was more 'divide and conquer'. Like most households do," said Spiros.
"Did she ever talk about him?
"Not that I can recall," said Aris. "She's a private person and we respect that."
"I see."
"What is this regarding? Mr. Fitzroy's death was an accident," Spiros said with a frown.
"We are pursuing every avenue open to us."
"What the hell does that mean?" Spiros yelled.
But Savva only smiled and peered out of the door at the expansive bakery beyond. Spiros and Aris shared a look. Spiros fidgeted with a pen in his pocket and Aris' hands balled into fists.
"Has Mrs. Fitzroy ever spoken about the state of her marriage? Has she spoken about being unhappy about any of John's behavior?"
"She's a private person, like we said," Spiros said.
Savva looked sideways at Aris, one eyebrow cocked.
Aris sighed. "I asked the same questions, Captain, and have given you her answers. If she was unhappy, if she needed help, she did not tell nor ask. We are as in the dark as you are. And presumably, there was nothing to say."
"You don't believe that," Savva said, it wasn't a question.
Aris moved to stand behind the empty chair where Davonna had sat, and placed his hands lovingly on the back. "It doesn't matter what I believe. Davonna is a good woman with a caring heart. She doesn't deserve this witch hunt."
"This isn't a witch hunt, Mr. Argyris. I am tasked with solving the question of what happened when Mr. John Fitzroy drove over the cliff and lost his life."
"What does that have to do with Davonna? She was at home," Aris said heatedly.
"Did she tell you that?"
"Yes, and also, her neighbor saw her. She'd been working at home all day. She didn't do anything to him."
"All day?" Savva repeated.
"Yes."
"I see."
"Is that all you have to say? You come here to dishonor the name of a good woman?"
"That's not my intention," Savva said with a bow. "Thank you for your time, gentlemen. I'll see myself out."
Spiros stood in the doorway, his face mottled with anger and frustration. He waited until the front door slammed to round upon Aris. "We should have never let him in."
"What did you want me to do? You know what he’s like. He would have come in tomorrow while everyone’s here."
"He'll talk to Ioannis. Why's he so happy to hear she was outside all week?" Spiros ploughed on.
"I don't know. Perhaps Thanos does?"
"Hmm," Spiros mused, "it might be worth a try. I doubt it though; he's just a sergeant."
"It wasn't an accident," Aris whispered.
"What wasn't an accident? That he waited until the customers were gone, and we couldn't escape?"
"No," Aris said in a quiet voice. "John Fitzroy's death. It wasn't an accident."
Davonna had only just dressed and pulled her hair into a low bun when the phone rang. Thinking it was Miriam checking in, she descended the stairs with a smile. It wasn't Miriam, but Captain Savva; who asked to come over at her convenience. Davonna hung up the phone and sat in the library. The room was cool even though the sun shone bright and full through the wall of windows.
Davonna settled into her favorite chair, drew her legs underneath, and tried not to ruminate about why Savva had called again. She phoned Sofia. Sofia was adamant she wanted the interview to take place at her office, but she said no, it would be fine; she wouldn't let Savva probe too much. Sofia sighed and thought it unwise, but she relented. Davonna put down the phone and stared at the garden.
In the silence, the grandfather clock's echoing clangs reverberated across the house. It was strange how noises faded into the background and yet others were so overbeari
ng that naught else could be heard. Her heart joined in time with the massive clock as it sought to find an anchor of peace.
It fit that John's death hadn't brought peace into the cold home. When had peace been a part of her life before? John had sucked it all away, along with every happiness and piece of joy and bright ray of sunshine — beauty ceased to exist after she married him.
Davonna sighed and rubbed her eyes. She wished the day would go dark and she might sink into oblivion, never to have to muddle through the pain, which riddled her heart. But the doorbell rang, and she walked out of the shadows to the door.
"Come in, Captain."
Was his mouth always set into a permanent scowl?
"Kalimera, Mrs. Fitzroy," he said and followed her through to the drawing room and seating himself on the same blue Louis XIV chair, he’d occupied before.
Davonna sat opposite on the sofa, curled into the plush corner. "This is short notice, Captain. What may I do for you?"
Savva didn’t respond immediately. Davonna looked exhausted, there were dark circles under her eyes, which couldn't be hidden by makeup. There was also something in the way she carried herself; Thanos was right, — was it defeat? Was it guilt? Or had he misunderstood entirely?
"I apologize. I don't like to barge in on people either." Davonna waited; her hands folded in her lap. "I'm afraid I have some distressing news, Mrs. Fitzroy. Our forensic department determined that the Morgan was tampered with."
"I don't understand."
"Someone conspired to murder Mr. Fitzroy."
The blood rushed from Davonna's face and her hands trembled in her lap. She tried to speak, but her throat closed as though someone was standing on it.
"Excuse me …" she whispered and ran for the nearest toilet.
Only bile came out though her stomach clenched and unclenched until she choked on the taste of it in her mouth. She swallowed some of it by reflex and it tore its way through her throat, leaving fire in its wake. The floor of the bathroom was deliciously cool and she slid down and rested her head against the tile. Every muscle and fiber of her body ached. Sweat and tears and snot dribbled across her face, and her hands shook so she could barely blow her nose with a wad of toilet paper.
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